“Hi, Maga. It’s Abby.”
“Hello?”
“Hi, Maga!”
“Who is it, please?”
“It’s Abby,” I shouted into the phone with a sinking feeling it was going to be one of those conversations. I put on a kettle of water so I could soothe my throat post phone call and settled in. “How was your day?!” I continued at the same excessive volume.
“A cold, busy day.”
“For me too. Busy.”
“What did you do?”
“I went to work and it. was. hectic!!”
“And then what?”
“That was the majority of the day. Now I’m home relaxing.”
“You went where?”
“I’m at home.”
“What was the majority?”
“At work. Now I’m done with that. What are YOU doing?” I asked in an attempt to turn the tide of this conversation.
“I’m putting photos in an album.”
“Oh, what fun! Who’s in the photos?”
“What?”
“What are your pictures of?” I said slowly and as clearly as possible.
“Where were they taken?” Maga asked.
“Yes!”
“These are from Alaska. Uncle D and Aunt C just went there you know.”
“I didn’t know. Those must be beautiful photos! What else is in the album?”
“Things from this year. I like to keep up to date with my albums.”
“I bet you do. So, what else do you have?”
“Things from this year.”
“Any from Africa?”
“Oh sure. I see S and F here.”
(Reader, S and F were not in Africa. I decided to go with the flow instead.) “How lovely. They’re so nice to visit with you.”
“Oh dear.”
“What’s up?”
“I’m so confused.”
“By your photographs?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need to concentrate on them?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like me to hang up?”
“Yes.”
And just like that, she turned off the faucet entirely. (The water metaphor. I’m sticking with it.)
Don’t ever confuse my grandmother with someone who doesn’t know what she wants. Seems that she’d rather spend time with photos of people than on the phone, but you know what, if it makes her happy, I’m going to let her be. She’s earned that much in 98 years and 8 months.
Abigail Mumford 